manicure sets

ZOË - model: Zoe Kravitz - photography: Patrick Demarchelier - styling: Beth Fenton - hair: Nikki Nelms - makeup: Tom Pecheux - manicure: Rieko Okusa - set design: Josephine Shokrian - Allure June 2017

  • featured: Gucci dress - New York Vintage,by Haus of Topper earrings (and Kravitz’s own) - custom made slippers
  • beauty notes: Couture Mono Eye Shadow in Caftan by Yves Saint Laurent
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ZOË - model: Zoe Kravitz - photography: Patrick Demarchelier - styling: Beth Fenton - hair: Nikki Nelms - makeup: Tom Pecheux - manicure: Rieko Okusa - set design: Josephine Shokrian - Allure June 2017

  • featured: (1st look) Simone Rocha dress - New York Vintage bracelet & rings - Scosha rings. (2nd look) Topshop Bride dress - custom made hair crown - Urban Outfitters hair clips - Daniela Villegas earrings (and Kravitz’s own) - Jacquie Aiche body chain
  • beauty notes: (1st look) Couture Mono Eye Shadow in Orient by Yves Saint Laurent  (2nd look) Top Secrets Lip Perfector, Eyeliner Effet Faux Cils Shocking in Majorelle Blue, and Full Metal Shadow in Eau d’Argent by Yves Saint Laurent

anonymous asked:

Hi!! I've spent the last few hours just reading your work and omg I love the way you interpret the prompts! You're making the long hiatus so much better already and I can't wait to read more! I have a prompt request as well: friends with benefits to realizing they like each other (with some angst added in!) thank you!!! :)

First of all thank you so much, that’s so sweet of you! Second of all, here it is! This is more playful than angsty but I still hope it’s okay!

AU: Jughead never went to Riverdale High and never became friends with Betty and the gang the way they were supposed to. Archie, Jughead, and Betty were close in middle school, but once they parted ways and Jughead followed in his father’s footsteps of becoming a Serpent, their relationship was never the same.

Betty brushed past Cheryl Blossom as she hurried her way down the freshly-mowed lawn of Riverdale High’s courtyard, nearly snagging her baby blue sweater on one of Cheryl’s particularly sharp insect brooches as their shoulders slammed into one another.

“B, where the hell have you been?” Veronica called to her from their usual picnic table at the end of the quad, her prized set of pearls shining elegantly in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Ignoring the icy glare that Cheryl tossed in her direction, Betty maneuvered her way through the crowd of chatting classmates to slip her way onto the bench of the picnic table next to Kevin, just as Veronica turned to narrow her eyes at Betty. “I’ve had to listen to Cheryl’s incessant ramblings regarding the subpar quality of her brand new Louboutins for the past half hour and trust me, when I reach the point of boredom beyond repair talking about designer shoes, you know there’s a problem.”

“Sorry, something came up,” Betty mumbled, shrugging off her pale pink backpack and placing it on the wooden surface in front of her.

“There have been a lot of things ‘coming up’ lately,” Veronica pointed out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say our little, not-so-innocent Elizabeth Cooper has a man in her life she’s been hiding from us.”

“Yeah, right,” Betty scoffed, unzipping her bag and rummaging through its contents to find the salt and vinegar chips she didn’t eat at lunch. “You know how terrible I am at keeping secrets. Remember your surprise birthday party last year?”

“How could I forget? You asked me to come over to help you with an English paper,” Veronica recounted the event in question, shaking her head in shame at Betty’s failed attempt at such a classic form of surprise. “The day Betty Cooper asks Veronica Lodge for homework advice, you know there has to be something else going on.”

Betty’s lips curled into a slight smile, her expression distant as she reached into the bag of chips and popped one into her mouth, repeating this process for several minutes without blinking or acknowledging that there were other people sitting at the table with her.

“Kind of like now,” Veronica mumbled, waving a perfectly manicured set of nails in front of her in an attempt to snap her out of the trance she had fallen into. “Look at her face, Kev. There’s something wrong with it.”

“You’re right, V,” Kevin concurred, leaning in close and tilting Betty’s chin towards him with a flick of his thumb. “There’s an actual smile on it. Hell must have frozen over.”

“Hey, I smile!” Betty defended herself, her too-tight ponytail nearly smacking Kevin in the face as she whirled around to look from Veronica, to Kevin, and back again.

“Not since Polly-” Kevin started to explain, but before he could get the words out, Veronica lunged across the table to place a hand over his mouth, nearly knocking various textbooks and papers onto the grass in the process.

“Shhh!” Veronica quieted him. “Kevin, we agreed that bringing up such events should be handled as if one were at Hogwarts and in the position of saying the name Voldemort - you just don’t do it!”

“Sorry,” Kevin shrank back onto his spot on the bench. “Let me rephrase. You’ve been a little down the past few months, but lately-”

“You’re happier than Kevin during a Brad Pitt movie marathon,” Veronica finished for him, her eyes dancing wildly as she leaned in to point a finger in Betty’s direction. “And that can only mean one thing.”

“Betty Cooper: number one in her class, editor of the Blue and Gold and all around girl next door, is getting a little ‘Fifty Shades of Freaky’ with one of Riverdale High’s finest young bachelors,” Kevin concluded, his arms crossing in front of his chest as if he were proud of himself for solving such a complicated riddle.

“I am not!” Betty protested. “You two have way too much time on your hands if you’re speculating why I’ve been smiling more lately.”

“What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t notice such things,” Kevin pointed out, his gaze suddenly leaving his friends to focus on the parking lot in front of them. “Kind of like how I’ve noticed Jughead Jones’ massive biceps lately, holy hot and bothered Rolling Stone-meets-Abercrombie you can actually see them bulging through that leather jacket.”

The boy in question stepped out of his midnight-black 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner, his dark hair falling effortlessly over his eyes as he moved to shut the driver’s side door.

“Joining the Southside Serpents has really sat well with his upper body muscles,” Veronica admired, her mouth hanging open slightly as he pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket like he was plucked straight out a scene from the Outsiders. “Too bad he doesn’t go here anymore, I would love to run my hands up and down those-”

“Veronica!” Betty’s eyes went wide as she turned to glare at her friend, whose mouth was practically watering as she took in Jughead leaning against the classic car and taking a drag from his cigarette like she was watching the most sensual thing she had ever laid eyes on. “Last time I checked you still have a boyfriend, or have you forgotten about our good pal Archie Andrews. You know, captain of the football team, lead singer of his very own rock band, Riverdale High honor student. Ring any bells?”

“Oh please, I’m allowed to window shop as long as I resist throwing anything into my basket,” Veronica muttered, picking up her copy of The Sun Also Rises and fanning herself with it, even though it was a perfectly cool fall afternoon that didn’t even come close to meriting such actions.

“That’s wrong on so many levels,” Betty mumbled, pushing her half-eaten bag of chips away from her and wiping her greasy fingers down the front of her sweater.

“What’s Jughead doing here anyway?” Kevin wondered. “I thought he and Archie stopped talking once he moved schools a few years ago.”

“He’s here to see me actually,” Betty admitted, turning in her spot on the bench to look at Jughead for the first time since he had pulled into the parking lot. “He was the best writer we had at the the junior newspaper in middle school and no one’s ever come close to filling his shoes, so he’s helping me out a few times a week after school at the Blue and Gold.”

“You sure he’s not helping you out with a few other things too?” Veronica wiggled her eyebrows at Betty suggestively, her lips creeping up into an amused smile as Betty narrowed her eyes at her.

“Just friends, Veronica,” Betty assured her. “Jughead isn’t Archie’s favorite person right now and after everything that’s happened with their fathers - I just - I wouldn’t do that to him, okay?”

“Whatever you say, B,” Veronica shrugged, still looking unconvinced as she reached underneath the table to retrieve her cheer bag. “Okay, I have to go find Cheryl before River Vixens practice so I can warn her that the choreography she’s been throwing at us is too 90′s cheer routine and not enough Beyonce video like we were going for.”

“Yeah, and I have to go witness the bloodbath of bitchy, yet impressively clever insults that is sure to occur as a result so we’ll see you later, Betty,” Kevin followed Veronica’s lead as she made her way away from the picnic table, the giddiness in his expression made even more evident by the enthused squeal escaping his lips as he bent down to pick up his backpack.

“Bye, guys,” Betty called out to them, shaking her head in amusement as she watched them round the corner to head back into the school.

Betty kept her gaze focused on the chemistry textbook resting open in front of her as she saw the movement coming from the parking lot out of the corner of her eye. Jughead had pushed off his car and was slowly making his way onto the sidewalk leading up to the courtyard. Her breath caught in her throat as he took a step closer. And another. And an-

“And then there was one,” Jughead announced, his leather-clad sleeve brushing the soft fabric of her sweater as he slid his way onto the picnic table next to her. “What’s it like without chatter mouth one and two attached to your hip?”

“I don’t know,” Betty sat up straight, turning slightly on the bench to quirk a challenging eyebrow in his direction. “What’s it like without your manhood to back up that newfound edginess that drives all the girls crazy? Wanna find out?”

“Betty Cooper,”Jughead beamed, one leg tucking underneath itself so that he could turn his body to face hers completely. “Throwing the banter back at me like we’re in a 1940′s black and white screwball comedy. I like it.”

“You’re early,” Betty noticed, her eyes focusing back on the periodic table displayed on the inside cover of the chemistry book.

“I ditched the last two periods,” Jughead shrugged nonchalantly, scooping up the abandoned bag of chips on the table and tossing back a handful into his mouth. “I figured that I’ve already learned as much as I needed to know about 17th Century England and the Taming of the Shrew to pass with at least a C in both history and English and still function in the real world like an adequately intelligent human being so why not skip out early and come see you?”

Jughead crumpled up the now-empty chip bag and tossed it behind him, missing the trashcan completely as he looked back to watch it roll onto the grass. Leaning in close, Jughead rubbed a hand on her knee resting underneath the table, his breath tickling the exposed skin of her neck and nearly causing a thrilled giggle to escape her lips.

“Jug,” Betty warned, reaching down to remove the hand slowly creeping its way up her thigh and turning to give him a leveled glare. “We agreed, remember?”

“You agreed,” Jughead corrected. “I said friends with benefits was a dated form of emotional torture that benefits neither party in any meaningful way.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Betty reminded him. “To not get attached in a way that lets you mean something to the other person?”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Jughead admitted, his eyes flicking to hers with a vulnerable state of truth-turned-worry when he realized that she might night have felt the same way. “At least on my part anyways.”

“You know that we can’t be anything more than what we are,” Betty explained. “At least not right now.”

“Because Archie blames me for my father’s involvement in his father’s shooting and he would love nothing more than to see me strung up on the mantle of his nice and cozy family-sized home,” Jughead recalled, his eyes rolling backwards dramatically sliding his leg back underneath the table and facing the empty set of picnic tables across the courtyard. “Yeah, you said that when we first started - whatever you want to call this. Doesn’t mean I understand it. And it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Juggie,” Betty whispered, resisting the urge to reach out and caress his cheek affectionately the way she had grown accustomed to since they had started their relationship nearly eight weeks before.

“You know how I feel about you, Betty,” Jughead told her, his eyes softening slightly as his head turned to smile weakly down at her lips. “And I think that if you were being completely honest with yourself, you know exactly how you feel about me too.”

Betty knew he was right. She knew that she felt more than just lust, coupled with the added bonus of orchestrating their clandestine meetings, for the boy from the Southside who was more than just his leather jacket and tough demeanor. But she couldn’t risk her friendship with either boy in her life by making things official. Not yet.

“This is the way things have to be right now,” Betty sighed. “At least until Mr. Andrews gets out the hospital and everything just - settles down. Please, Jughead. I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t want to lose him either.”

Betty held Jughead’s gaze, her bottom lip jutting out slightly as her teeth automatically reached out to bite down on the tender skin there, a habit she had formed around the time she had started seeing Jughead in a little-more-than-just-friends kind of way.

“God, why do you have to do that thing with your bottom lip,” Jughead mumbled, his eyes flicking down to her pink lips with a fleck of longing in his gaze. “You know that drives me insane.”

“I know,” Betty beamed, her eyebrow quirking flirtatiously up in his direction. “Why do you think I do it so often?”

“Okay, if we’re still playing by these ridiculous rules you’ve set in place then we better get to the Blue and Gold room because I’m feeling the overwhelming urge to kiss you,” Jughead breathed, his heart beating wildly as Betty’s leg brushed against his, making his palms sweat in the best way possible. “Now.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” Betty leaned in close to Jughead as if she were going to meet her lips to his, but swung her legs out from underneath the picnic table at the last second and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Race you.”

“You’re on.” Jughead grabbed Betty’s bag off the table and sprinted after her, not even noticing that there had been a figure lurking in the shadows who had witnessed their intimate exchange with a devious smile plastered on her flaming red lips. Turning on her less-than-adequate Louboutin heel, Cheryl let her waist-length red hair swing playfully behind her as she sauntered her way to cheer practice, already scheming and plotting how she was going to use this juicy new development to her advantage.

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ALEK WEK - photography: Txema Yeste - styling: Bernat Buscato - hair: Lacy Redway - makeup: Tyron Machhausen - manicure: Natalie Pavloski - set design: Chad Dziewior - text / interview: Irene Ojo-Felix - Models online editorial May 2017

  • “Feeling comfortable in your own shoes. I think it’s good to be able to say to a young person that you are enough. You can improve but it doesn’t take away who you are. Some people are loud, some people are shy, it doesn’t make them any better or any less.”
  • “Being iconic means inspiring change. I feel my parents raised us to be thinkers and good human beings the best that they could. I didn’t want to just model for the sake of vanity, I knew that there was a bigger purpose, being able to shed light on important issues like the refugee crisis.”

featured: Jolibe bolero - Hndwvn coat - Jolibe dress - Pierre Hardy slippers - The Row jumpsuit. Wanda Nylon trench coat. Newbark slippers

hello you // arthur shelby & reader

Imagine you’re Arthur’s wife and involved in the Shelby business. One night you’re walking home and you get attacked. You manage to fight off the attacker but get stabbed in the process. You’re too stubborn to tell anyone you’re hurt so carry on like normal but you struggle to do things you’d normally do and Arthur notices. He confronts you and you deny anythings wrong but then you collapse into his arms. You wake up in the hospital; Arthur asleep with his head resting on the side of your bed

this is like super long but i really really like it ??? i hope u enjoy babes

The intensity of the crowd in The Garrison on this particular Saturday night was gradually growing with every passing second. Shouts and laughter seemed to encompass the room and increased as more and more people shuffled into the already congested bar with a shout to greet everybody. A glinting crystal glass was held between your finger a thumb, a manicured set of nails quietly tapping on the base as you gently swirled the golden liquid inside. You hadn’t drank much; though everyone around you obviously had, perhaps more than they could handle by the looks of John slipping off the edge of the bar with a thud as he hit the floor sticky with booze. A roar of laughter erupted from your husband behind the bar, who then lent over and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt. A small smile spread across your lips as you admired him. He was very much in his element behind that bar, it was wonderful for you to see.

You quickly stood from your seat at the opposite end of The Garrison, briefly interrupting the heated discussion Polly and Esme were having over you. Pushing your way through crowds of drunken men clinging on to each other for support, you eventually made your way behind the bar to greet Arthur, who met you with a swift kiss on your cheek and a beaming smile. A smile to which you could not help but to smile back at.

“Arthur, I’m going to get going.”

“What? Why?!” He shouted over the noise as he accidentally overfilled a pint and slid it down to one of the men.

“My heads hurting a bit so I thought I’d just go home and get some work done before Tommy shouts at me for not having it done earlier–” you began to explain before Arthur cut you off with furrowed eyebrows.

“’Ere, one second, I’ll tell everyone to shut the fuck up–”

“No, Arthur, really: it’s fine! Everyone’s having a good time, and so are you. Stay.” You pressed a kiss to his lips before placing your hand along his jaw.

“I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

You gave out your farewell’s for the night: a quick kiss on the cheek to Polly and Esme, a drunken hug from John, and a chorus of goodbye’s from the rest of the lads sat at the bar. As you stood at the door of The Garrison, your hand laid across the handle, you waved back at Arthur, who shouted a loud ‘I love you’ across the bar. From that, he was met with barks of laughter from the men as well as a few slaps on the shoulder as he poured their drinks. With a soft chuckle, you swung open the door and slipped out.

The stark contrast between the warmth of The Garrison and the piercing cold of the Birmingham night numbed you immediately. You pulled on the pair of silk gloves that hung from your bag before wrapping the thick coat tighter around your frame. As you walked the deserted streets of Small Heath, the only sound that could be heard was the clicking of your heels against the cobbled path. Soon, the muffled music emitted from the Garrison became silence and the yellow light it produced in the midst of the night faded into darkness. And you were alone. Not that you were worried; you were a Peaky Blinder for Christ’s sake.

Though, a loud crash followed by footsteps caused your heart to drop for a mere second as you stopped in your path.

“Hello?” You asked into the alley, feeling almost silly that your heart race was increasing with every second of silence. “Anyone there?” As the silence continued, you dismissed your fears with a shrug and began walking again.

You could see your home in the distance, lit by a lone street light. As you opened the small bag between your fingers a strong arm wrapped around your neck. Your hands rose to the arm without a second though, attempting to scratch and pull at what was blocking your throat. Whoever it was dragged you backwards and into the alley you’d paused at only minutes ago. Your back was pushed against the brick wall, the back of your head hitting forcefully against the stone. Their grip on your arms was tight and, despite your unwavering struggle against it, you were trapped beneath them.

“Arthur Shelby’s wife?” The attacker spoke as he pulled a scintillating silver blade from his deep coat pocket, your struggle stopped for a second with the mention of your husbands name. You looked up at your attacker with wide eyes as he spoke, “this is a message for the Peaky Blinders.” He drove his knife towards you, but as the thin blade began to pierce your lower torso, your knee was sent with violent strength into his groin. The man doubled over with a groan as his arms wrapped around his waist.

Your thoughts were clouded with adrenalin, fear, and pain; yet, your mind still managed to take you back to when you first started seeing Arthur and he had taught you to fight. His arms flung around your body as he showed you the correct positioning’s and best ways to do damage.

Watching as the man began to regain himself, his features now spiked with anger projected at you. You recovered your consciousness as you left your memories. With your dress slightly hitched above your ankles, you marched towards the man and struck his neck with your elbow, causing him to stumble against the wall. You proceeded to punch him in the jaw and watched in disgust as he fell to the floor. After striding closer to the man groaning on the floor, you dug the attenuated heel of your shoe into the loose skin near his eye.

“Tell your fucking boss…” you began as he began to squirm beneath your heel, “that you don’t mess with a fucking Shelby.”

You finished with a kick to his stomach and listened to his moans of pain as you stormed off down the street, picking up your bag where you’d dropped it earlier on. A spasm of pain twinged from your hip as you lent down to collect your bag from the floor, prompting you to remember the very moment when his knife impaled your body. Shaking fingers travelled down to where the blade had punctured, creating flickers of discomfort as they brushed against the wound. You rose them to your eyes, only just able to make out the dark red fluid now stained on the tips of your once pearly gloves. While you considered returning to The Garrison to tell Arthur, you decided against it. The blade didn’t go deep and couldn’t have hit anything major; it was something you could easily handle yourself. And so, you made your way home. The wound was cleared and dressed by the time your husband returned home, and you made sure to discreetly cover the marks left on your body from the attack. It was nothing he had to worry about.


The pain had heightened by the next morning, which was not ideal to your standards. Not only did it ache to do the simplest things such as dressing yourself, but you also had to hide this from Arthur. You knew that if he found out he would go on a rampage throughout the streets of Birmingham just to find the person who dared to inflict harm upon his wife.

The day in the office felt like torture; to you anyways. It seemed like everyone was practically dancing around the workplace, while you were confined to your seat; unable to even move an inch in order to reach for another sheet of paper.

Arthur had noticed. Although you had tried your best to keep your spirits up; you were transparent to him. When he watched you as you worked, he noticed how you flinched with even the slightest brush of contact but endured with a strained smile, or the way you recoiled with every movement you made. Arthur couldn’t seem to take his eyes from you the entire day, just in case something happened and he wasn’t there to help. He knew you inside out, and he knew that something was wrong. 

That night the two of you walked home, hand-in-hand, after finishing up at the office. Though the two to of you had walked these exact streets almost a million times together, he felt something different about your demeanor on this particular night. You constantly looked over your shoulder, watching the path behind you, and twitched at every loud noise sounding from one of the houses or factories down the road. Even when he tried to drag you into his chest, you pushed away with a hiss of pain. His eyes drooped with confusion as he stopped in his path, though you continued to walk he pulled you back with his grip on your hand.

“Arthur?”

“What’s wrong, [y/n]?” His voice thick with worry made your heart melt, yet you could barely hear the words leaving his mouth. Through the hours you spent hunched over a desk, your wound had worsened and was beginning to affect you in different ways; your vision had blurred slightly and you were only just able to distinguish the worrisome look that had embraced your husbands features, you struggled to move as your body began to feel heavy and sluggish - even picking up your feet to walk had become a difficult task, and soon enough, your mind couldn’t focus on anything but the pain.

The last thing you heard before your eyes dropped was Arthur shouting your name.

Arthur watched on as your eyes began to close slightly, stepping forward with apprehension. Your legs collapsed beneath you when your eyes shut completely, sending you descending on to the cobbled streets beneath your feet before Arthur jolted forwards and encircled his arms around your body. He fell to the ground alongside you, cushioning your body from suffering a harder blow. Your name left his lips in breathy mutters as fear flooded his entire body. Fear of loosing you. He screamed through the seemingly abandoned streets.

“Someone call a fuckin’ ambulance!”


The next morning you woke in a bed that wasn’t your own. Sunlight was seeping into the vast room through the open windows; illuminating the simple room in a tuscany gleam. Your thoughts were swimming in a slow daze; but with a sudden realisation, you recognised where you were. The plain white walls, the wide rooms, the empty beds, which were neatly organised in rows opposite each other. With a roll of your eyes, you attempted to leave the bed and the hospital itself. But as you did, you noticed a figure stir beside you. Lent over the crisp white sheets was Arthur, hands flung over your body and hair dishevelled from the unusual sleeping position. You remained in the bed. Slender fingers fell to where his face laid, gently caressing his jaw in efforts to not wake him from his sleep as a small smile rested upon your pinkened lips. Arthur’s eyes fluttered to an open, and after a short, lingering moment, he swiftly looked up to see if you were awake yet. Once you greeted him with a beaming smile, he promptly grasped onto your face with his large hands; planting a kiss on your still partially open lips in a moment of relief.

“‘Ello you..”

  • L: I think we bought too much stuff.
  • Light: We've never killed a person before. I don't know how to shop for that.
  • L: You could start by staying out of the cosmetics isle
  • Light: I needed a brush.
  • L: Just once I'd like to come back from a store with only the stuff on our list
  • Light: Oh? I don't remember a men's manicure set being on the list
  • L: Now I don't have to borrow yours

THE 18 FOR ’17 (Fall’s Hit List) - photography: Terry Tsiolis - styling: Samira Nasr - hair: Kevin Ryan - makeup: Frankie Boyd - manicure: Elisa Ferri - set design: Bette Adams - models: Hannah Bennett, Misty Downs, Lameka Fox, Elsa Hosk & Jasmine Tookes - location: NYC - Elle August 2017

  • featured: Loewe

Some headcanons:

Juno’s nails are a mess. He doesn’t bite them, but he’s constantly picking at them when he feels restless (which is often, especially when he doesn’t have a case), so they’re always stubby and shredded. Rita keeps noticing this, and has bought him several manicure sets. They’re all gathering dust in his bathroom. 

He does shave regularly, but he’s pretty shoddy with it and is always nicking his face and giving himself razor burn. Partly because he keeps buying shitty razors and doesn’t invest in decent shaving foam, but also because no one really taught him how. Mick did his best to show him one time when they were teenagers, but Juno gets real irritable real quick when he’s being told what to do, especially when he’s doing badly at something that’s supposed to be simple, so he didn’t get very far before giving up. But it’s the one good habit he’s been able to make stick, and anyway he hates the feel of facial hair more than he hates cursing at the mirror in the morning, so he keeps it up. 

THIS. IS. BIG. - model: Zoe Kravitz - photography: Alexi Lubomirski - styling: Samira Nasr - hair: Nikki Nelms - makeup: Kara Yoshimoto Bua - manicure: Emi Kudo - set design: Bryan Porter - production: Jessica Hafford - Elle February 2017

  • Dior dress & bra - Repose ear cuffs - her own earrings

jastookes#Repost @voguemagazine
・・・
Waitin’ for the day your ship’ll come in so you can jump into the Med in Michael Kors’s brilliant maillots. In the meantime, take cues from Jasmine Tookes, Hannah Ferguson, Cindy Bruna, and Sara Sampaio and wear it to the office with a capacious crepe blazer (and a skirt, unless your job description includes Victoria’s Secret Angel). Tap the link in our bio to watch what happens when a supermodel army, wearing the best new spins on careerwear from New York Fashion Week, descends on One World Trade Center. Featuring @sarasampaio, @cindybruna, @jastookes and @hannahfergusonofficial in @michaelkors Director @charlottemwales Fashion Editor @jordenbickham Art Director @goldandrew Director of Photography @kevinhayden Hair @shingoshibata Makeup @jenmyles Manicure @yukotsuchihashi Set Design #gerardsantos Choreographer @dannip18 Edited by @traderjojos @modern.post Music “9 to 5” by @dollyparton